With Reverence
by peroxidepest17
Summary: Doumeki does everything with great care.


**Title: **With Reverence  
**Universe:** XXXHolic  
**Theme/Topic:** N/A  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Character/Pairing/s:** hints of DoumekixWatanuki, but nothing concrete.  
**Warnings/Spoilers:** pisode 23 of the anime. Also, blatant (and probably WRONG) speculation as to Doumeki's youth. I'm SORRY I'VE ONLY SEEN THE ANIME. Plus the usual OOC and stupidity. LOL  
**Word Count: **804  
**Summary:** Doumeki does everything with great care.  
**Dedication:** swinku and kshi—I guess I've seen the light? XD;;**  
A/N:** First attempt at Holic fic— like I said, I've only seen the anime so forgive me if it's a little bit shady on characterization and/or storyline in general. Haha But they're so cute I guess I had to try it even though I know I have no idea what I'm doing (and I still owe tons of Ouran and One Piece fic). FORGIVE ME! It was for my own amusement on my last day of summer vacation, I suppose, and was not designed to make any sense to anyone other than myself. XD   
**Disclaimer:** Not mine, though I wish constantly.  
**Distribution:** Just lemme know.

* * *

When he was four his grandfather taught him calligraphy.

"You only get one chance now," the old man had said with a gentle smile, and handed him a brush. "Clean paper, black ink. Stroke by stroke you're changing it from what it used to be into something new. So do it carefully, do it well. Then it becomes something beautiful and not just a stain, ne? The paper will thank you."

Doumeki was fairly proficient at calligraphy by the time he was eight, and soon the brush was exchanged for a bow.

The same lesson.

"A chance to make a mark— so do it carefully, do it well. With your own two hands, make something beautiful…powerful. The arrow will thank you."

Cautious, thoughtful, deliberate. Each stroke of movement towards a purpose, because life required care, required honor and dignity and reverence for all its daily gifts. It was such a fragile, beautiful thing.

Doumeki learned to think carefully about all these things, because every little movement changed the universe.

"So do it well."

In that same vein, sometimes Doumeki didn't understand Watanuki.

A bundle of useless movement and meaningless words—disorder and awkwardness and indignant rage and everything between that should have made things ugly but somehow did not when Doumeki really stopped to look, to deliberate upon watchfully, patiently.

But all the same… sometimes he didn't understand the purpose of Watanuki's actions.

Life required care and great reverence because it was beautiful, irreplaceable, fragile. Do it well, take each day, be thankful. You only got one chance.

So Doumeki didn't understand why Watanuki thought it would be okay to die just like that— to let his life end just because the thing that was trying to kill him was lonely or sad or angry or all of the above. It didn't feel right to Doumeki that because of one small moment in time— because of one stray feeling of sympathy—the idiot had felt as if he should die for the sake of something else. There was no real thought there that Doumeki could see, no deliberation, no care. No reverence or beauty at all.

It all felt like a big angry black spot on nice white paper, and the word "waste" echoed through Doumeki's head over and over again when he looked into the idiot's face, when he stepped in front of Doumeki's arrow on something as ephemeral as a whim.

Doumeki had been taught from a very young age that every little movement had the power to change the universe.

And for a very brief second-- with his weapon aimed straight at Watanuki-- he felt the ground shift beneath him.

"You only get one chance," he told himself, and hoped he could still be careful, still do well.

Even when the universe felt as if it were moving out from underneath his feet.

And as he leveled his bow, bent the wood and pulled the string back with all the care and purpose of a surgeon—or an executioner-- the only thing he could think of was that he wanted to keep something beautiful in his life— that he had one chance and one chance only to make a mark on this moment in time with the strength of his own two hands.

He thought that maybe, maybe Watanuki would thank him afterwards.

He remembered a time back when he was very young-- before he could speak but not before he could listen—when his grandfather told him legends.

All sorts of old, fantastical tales-- some heartwarming, some mysterious, some frightening. All important.

"Believe," the old man always said after the evening's story had been finished, and would pet his grandson's hair before Doumeki fell asleep each night, the final words of his tale still ringing in the little boy's ears long after they'd been uttered, burrowing deep into Doumeki's heart and dreams. "Believe and life will be beautiful."

Doumeki didn't understand Watanuki's willingness to die, didn't understand that look of pleading and anger and desperation on the idiot's face when he pushed that lonely being behind him and stood in front of Doumeki's bow like it was the most sensible thing in the world to do. Then again, he didn't understand Watanuki most of the time anyway.

But despite all that, he remembered.

He remembered that life was beautiful-- just like his jii-san had told him long ago, as the child he'd been had fallen asleep each night-- and as he squared his jaw, as he pulled the string back with that invisible arrow and set his shoulders, Doumeki took a deep, sharp breath and reminded himself to believe.

"Do it carefully, do it well."

Believe and life will be beautiful.

The arrow flew then, and everything in the universe shifted.

He thought that maybe Watanuki would thank him afterwards.

**END**


End file.
